Can You Help Me Out? I Promise I'll Be Kind
by ABlurInTheWind
Summary: Marik Ishtar is a sixteen year old exported from Egypt for..displeasing actions by his sister. England wraps him up, and he presses the do over button. Bakura is a "ghost" who first gets close to others, then rips their life from them. What happens when his sights settle on Marik, and importantly, will Marik live longer than how long it takes to worm his way into the Eyptians heart
1. Chapter 1

** This is my first YuGiOh fanfiction work, so please be gentle, and I apologize in advance for spelling (a few of my keys are jammed) and if characters are out of character. I've only seen Marik and Bakura once. And, of course, I don't have the rights to YuGiOh. **

Egypt had been bright, he remembered. Luminous and glorified and so truly fitting of the homeland of the great and mighty gods. With enormous dunes of golden beige sands that rolled in hills, churning like a serpent's tail. Far and few between many miles would be a oasis, most of them mirages. Unless you knew where to look, that is. Marik likes to that even tough he grew up in a tomb, rarely seeing the outside, well. He still likes to think that he can navigate the desert well. With it uncovering her secrets, oasis included.

Thunder cracks, like the uneven beat produced by a scared drummer boy's mallets as he leads an army to battle. Lightning races across skies miles wide to reach the echoing clap, and the two wage war. Rain cascades to the sopping pavement below, and Marik reasons that those are the small bodies of the fallen. England is nothing like Egypt, he thinks. Though both may begin with the same vowel, there could never be two more different that the countries. England is slate skies, hardly ever punctured by the Sun's rays, and tall building that make up the giant bodies of skyscrapers. Stone and concrete giants that reign over the slowly drowning city of London. Marik feels like he's drowning, too. Because he knows his mind, well he thinks he does, and he knows he isn't insane.

His sister may say differently, but she was blinded. Ishizu had been shielded more so than he himself had been, and their father was not the caring man she had been brought up to think. He had been cruel, evil, and abusive. Marik had taken it and taken it, until his spine wouldn't allow him to bend any further for fear of breaking. Ironic, really, because he snapped anyway. No matter what she said, Marik stood by his actions, however extreme or wrong they may appear in others eyes. He remembered clearly grasping the metal torch holder in the tomb, remembers baring down over the man who for so many years tore him down. He remembered the feel as the metal smashed the skull and the feel of warm, sticky blood as the crimson color painted his face. Most of all, Marik remembers his sister's screams.

There had been a funeral. Everyone dressed in black and eyes holding tears for a non-deserving tyrant. He hadn't attended, no matter the amount of pleading from his sister, and she had left him with heavy eyes. Marik imagines that there were flowers, and wreaths and although yes, funerals are sad (though maybe not this one), it's suppose to be a celebration for the person ascending to the next life. The eternal one. Yeah, right, his father is going one way but it sure wasn't up.

After Ishizu had returned to the tomb that to him was so much lighter now and pulled him aside.

"You will be leaving Egypt," she had told him. "I will not speak of you against father, and I will tell the authorities that we do not know who it wasw; we were asleep."

Marik had starred at her, mind swirling and trying desperately to grasp what she was saying.

"What?," he has whispered.

Ishizu had squeezed his shoulder, her eyes much older than her years, and tinged with a faint emotion Marik dared not call love, because you didn't ship away a person you loved. No matter the saying or motto. "You will be okay, brother. You are just confused, and though that does not clear your actions, it does bring you sympathy from me. A change of scenery will help you and in time, you may be able to return home."

Marik burned with so many emotions, he felt like a humanoid dust storm. Finally he narrowed his unique violet eyes, piercing his sister with them.

"This is not my home, Ishizu, and I will not return freely. If you so wish it, you will have to drag me back in chains, I swear it by Ra," he snatched the plane ticket she held limply in her hand, storming out of the tunnels and towards the surface, taking nothing with him. After all, he saw this as a start of a new life, and the first step towards it would be dropping everything from the past one. Starting with the deepest connections.

He discovered that he hated planes. The skies were meant to house Nueth, and a meta contraption weighing tons should not enter her domain. Turbulence threw the plane often, and it did nothing to help his already turning stomach calm down. Marik also thinks that people should not be on planes. Passengers were annoying and agitated, stuck up and rambunctious. Many eyes drifted in his direction, no doubt eyeing his dark skin and god jewelry. His eye color not helping his cause to blend in, he had his mother's eyes he had been told. If it wasn't the passengers bothering him, it would be the fake flight attendants. They reminded him of mannequins, he had never seen one, but he knew enough to know that they were fake people.

It took five hours and ten minute to arrive in England, he finds out. He knows because he counted every agonizing minute. With no other form of entertainment it had been a quick launch of the idea, and he didn't shake it until he stepped foot onto the landing pad of England concrete. It's the first step of his new time. Rain licks his warm skin, the chill seeping in deep and nestling into his bones, deep into the marrow. It's fitting, he thinks, that it would rain. Washing away his old life and each droplet making room for a small piece of his new one.

As he had no luggage he walks right out the landing strip, not bothering to go through the air port building, and into the city of London, if he remembers correctly. He's sixteen, in a foreign country after murdering his father (he knows he's not insane, he still swears it). What is the first thing he could do with his new found freedom, life? Get a place to live and enroll in 'high school' as he's come to understand it's called.

He sets out. Ra help him.


	2. Chapter 2

** Hello, again, to those who put up with me and read this story. Thank you to my first reviewer, it really meant a lot to me and I loved reading it! :) If you would, please continue to review further chapters. :)**

The second thing that Marik learned was London was big. Mind bogglingly so, and he thinks maybe he'll never know how to properly navigate this enormous city. There are so many streets and with them an abundance of names to add. He may be able to speak English, though with a slight accent, reading it is a much harder task. Cafés adorn every street corner, people of every age bustling to get in and out of them. For a moment he thinks of the Nile and the hippos and crocodiles. To Marik the people of London are strange. So pale, their skin almost pasty (some are), and reminding him of spirits that have lost their way to the After Life. He feels so out of place among them, with his caramel skin and exotic violet eyes.

He may feel lost in the city, but it is not altogether unwelcoming seeing as how he's lost in his own life too, so he wanders. Walking down streets when they call to him. The architecture is amazing, the variety far greater than that of the pyramids, and more intricate. Arch ways loom over his head made of stone, concrete, bricks, and more. Detailed to perfection with soldiers and lights. Buildings claim their spaces with strong column and ivory angels feathered with gold. It's truly beautiful here, Marik thinks, even if the skies rarely opened to the sun. As he's walking he comes across a building different from the rest; it's white, yes, but the majority of it is made of blue sheened glass. Teenagers pour out the doors, are silhouetted in the windows, mill around on the grass. Some even notice him and stare. Curiosity being his Achilles' heel he walks close following the gate surrounding the building and comes to a sign: Woodside High School. Well, he thinks, he knows where he can register for school now.

Schooling isn't the most important thing on his mental check-list (the first is reminding himself that he_ is _sane.), it's finding a place to stay. From what Marik has seen of London there isn't many homes, there simply isn't enough room. Instead there are tall buildings that hold many smaller homes. The name slips him but he remembers they have a name that starts with an 'a'. Seeing as he has no money except what's in his pocket, which isn't much, he can't be picky; the cheaper the better. As he walks he noticed that his surrounding begin to loose there luster and he concludes that he must be reaching the outer edges of the city. Perfect, he has no doubts that things will be less expensive out here.

People are different here he soon noticed, what with lavish coats far and few between and worn out shoes scoff the asphalt when they walk by. He clutches at the gold circlets around his lower arms, protective of them. Marik knows no one here and he wouldn't put it past these people to try and pull something on him simply because he was a foreigner. There is a small house complex ahead and he walks towards it, stopping in front of the paint peeled door. _Millennium Housing and Apartments_. He blinks, apartments, he thinks. He reaches out grasping the door handle and pulling; with a few squeaks it finally gives and he walks in.

The lighting isn't bad but nor is it good, average he would say, with plastic fluorescents overhead. A worn red rug leads to a front desk where a girl is. He supposes the rug is meant to look classy but it just gives the lobby a tacky trying-to-hard look. Either way he still walks to the front desk and waits from the girl to notice his presence. She appears to be engrossed in a small electronic and paying no mind to the real world around her. He clears his throat, "Excuse me?" His voice isn't unpleasant, if a bit high, and it grabs her attention. Her head shooting up.

She blinks her big brown eyes and Marik's reminded of a doe, "Hello, welcome, can I help you?"

Her name tag reads Clare and Marik is not blind, he sees the way her eyes try to subtly look over his body. The tan skin and gold jewelry, the kohl sharpened violet eyes and almost flaxen hair color. Black shirt that hugs his frame and khaki cargo pants.

'Yes, actually," he smiles at her, "I was wondering if you had any available apartments?"

Clare blinks and then scrambles to put her electronic away, sitting taller and leaning forward, smiling. "Yes we do. Are you looking for a place to stay?"

She's twirling a piece of blonde hair around her spindly finger and Marik can't help but wonder if all females were like this. Never the less he nods, hair brushing past his eyes, "I just got to town, unfortunately without anywhere to stay. Could you help me out?"

Clare bobs her head, spinning around to a cork board with many keys pinned to it, hesitating slightly before grasping a pair and turning back to him, setting the keys between them.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure." She winks at that and Marik fees uneasy. "Here, enjoy your room, we can do registrations tomorrow and work out rent, too. It was a pleasure meeting you-", she trails off, not knowing his name. He's rather keep it that way if he was being honest with himself.

"Marik," he grasps a hand she had extended after she trailed off, shaking it briefly and then dropping it like a poisoned fish.

She beams, "Marik."

He swipes the keys from the desk and walks tot he stairs ascending them quickly. When he reaches the top he checks the small numbers stamped into the metal: _B6_, and locates the door. stuffing the key into the lock he turns and pushes until the sticky door gives under his insistence, stumbling inside. The room was dim and musky, air heavy from lack of open windows or movement. He flicked on the light switch to the right of the door frame. it wasn't a bad room, a nice paint style if a bit out of date, and descent looking furniture. He didn't bother finding the bed room just simply collapsed on the worn but comfortable couch, eyes fluttering shut. Though, Marik could have sworn he saw movement before he drifted to sleep.

**Yes, Bakura will be semi-present next chapter. Marik will also be registering for school, thus meeting for the first time Yugi and company, and leading into Marik getting a job to make money. Please favorite, follow, and review. :)**


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